


Fundamentals

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Batman Begins (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      Thanks to TrinityVixen.<p>Written for Lady Sarai</p>
    </blockquote>





	Fundamentals

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to TrinityVixen.
> 
> Written for Lady Sarai

 

 

The morning of Master Bruce's eighteenth birthday, the Post saw fit to remind the whole of Gotham that its most famous son had finally come of age. At the top of the Society page, above a grainy black and white print of his final prep school portrait - _I suppose a snapshot of a smile would be the bloody Holy Grail_ \- were three blunt words in imperious block letters:

**RICH, HANDSOME, SINGLE.**

"Release the hounds," Alfred murmured into his cuppa, eyes falling over the accompanying piece - a breathless rundown on the merits and tragedies of Bruce Anthony Wayne, reading for all the world like the nutrition information on a soup can. After the fourth cloying alteration on the young man's name - _Brucie, heavens_ \- the butler skipped the rest of Society (nothing he hadn't gathered through more reliable means) and Editorial (opinions he wasn't paid to care about), washed his dishes, and retrieved the small packet he'd carefully tied off with a single blue ribbon the night before.

Bruce was already awake and tucked into the window seat in his bedroom, one bare foot skimming the rug in a steady swing. He propped the open book against his chest as Alfred entered - another thick volume in a steady stream of dark literature, mostly Russian.

"Good morning, sir. I hope you weren't planning any trips to town while you're here. I recommend barricading yourself for the remainder of the weekend."

"Oh?" Bruce eyed the Englishman's hand with a deep frown. "What did I do now?"

"You were born a complete package. Quite unfortunate."

A grimace. " _Oh_."

"Just remember, Master Wayne - they're all ladies until they prove themselves otherwise."

"I think you overestimate my charm."

"On the contrary, it's difficult to overestimate the charm of a billionaire." He proffered the gift without fanfare. "Many happy returns."

The frown returned. "I thought I said no gifts." The youngest Wayne said a lot of nullifying things, and ignoring them was often exhausting.

"Forgive me. You'll allow me this small disobedience, with you so rarely home?" He stood, unmoving and unapologetic, until the boy - man, _eligible bachelor_ \- accepted the package. "I figure someone has to spend your money."

The bemused smirk was pure Thomas Wayne. "So it's not a gift," said Bruce. "Technically speaking."

"Precisely, sir."

Round lost, Bruce set his book down. He slipped off the ribbon - bow intact, which secretly pleased Alfred - and tore through paper and tape with a youth's disregard for military-neat folds and corners. Tissue paper dropped into his lap and he examined the rather slim envelope that emerged.

"You booked a villa." He scanned the inner flap. "In Greece."

"I took the liberty of reserving it for the entire summer," Alfred replied. "You haven't been to Greece since you were a boy, if I'm not mistaken." And he wasn't.

"Summer's a year away."

"Which is why I am informing you of our trip now. You've had quite the mercurial schedule as of late. I don't suspect that will change when you officially enter university."

Bruce studied the older man. "We'd be going together?"

Alfred remembered being eighteen years old, even if his life had been very different than this. The query stung, regardless. "I can't say I'd mind time away from here, sir. Seems I'm always seeing you off. Might be nice to enjoy a jaunt together." He forced cheeriness on this last point and the strain did not go unnoticed.

"No, no - I mean, of course." Bruce had the decency to look embarrassed, though Alfred had long ago given up fighting the gravity of the young man's self-absorption. He'd experienced worse in his lifetime. Perhaps if it were any other he could easily blame what the magazines and websites called hormones and teenage rebellion. But the past decade had taught him better.

"Very well. I'll leave you to it." As he turned to make his leave, Bruce stood abruptly.

"Thank you, Alfred."

The butler glanced for a moment at the outstretched hand, nearly as large as his own, and took it firmly. "Think nothing of it, sir." He smiled as Bruce settled back into his perch - the sun etching his profile in light, the tickets resting on the windowsill.

They never did go to Greece.

 

 

 

 

The day Master Bruce turned thirteen, Alfred was called to the boy's school by the headmaster - a brusque fellow with iron-clad principles, a low tolerance for disobedience, and exceptionally large teeth. Three hours' drive had been little preparation for the indignation that greeted him in the mahogany and leather confines of the man's office, in which Bruce sat sullenly, luggage piled around his feet.

"Why would you do such a thing?" Alfred asked the boy reflected in the rearview mirror, who had not uttered a word since the headmaster declared, in no uncertain terms, that Mr. Wayne was no longer welcome. "I've taught you better than to disrespect your teachers, young man, let alone rip jewelry from their person." Speaking it aloud only made the deed sound more absurd. "That necklace was given to that poor woman by her grandmother. An _heirloom_."

The still, lightly freckled face finally looked up. His expression was oddly decisive, without a trace of anger or remorse. "I don't like pearls," he said.

Alfred let this marinate for a while, lost in the changing colors of passing trees. When he finally spoke, his words were chosen carefully.

"There are many things you won't like in your lifetime, Master Bruce."

"I know."

"And I won't always be around to help you."

The boy's answer was matter of fact. "Yes. You will." It was less observation than order and, for the first time, the butler understood how it would be from this point on - the strange balance he had been asked to maintain.

"Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Please don't be mad." He sighed, kicking the back of the passenger seat. "It's my birthday."

Alfred smiled softly. "Indeed."

 

 

 

 

_At ten past nine, the small, dark figure finally appears on the stairs. He is wearing the suit you laid out for him earlier, specially made for this day. Later you will find it in the kitchen rubbish bin amongst scraps of an uneaten breakfast and the morning edition of the Gazette._

"Alfred?" You see the tie draped uselessly in his hands, his bewilderment. "I can't..."

"Well." You place your hat on the nearest side table and beckon him with a gentle hand. His steps are heavy, and you wonder what else he will forget, knowing full well what he has seen. "Then let us try and remember together."

Outside, it is starting to rain. You both face the hall mirror, the butler and the boy. You, standing in his father's place, stepping him through one of life's silly rituals, now imbued with new significance; him, watching your fingers nimbly fold a strip of black fabric into a symbol of gentility and expectation.

Twenty-one years from now you will still be tying his loose ends, helping him maintain a necessary lie.

Twenty-one years from now it will hurt less than it does in this moment.

 


End file.
